May This Be Love, Or Confusion?
by lostlikealice
Summary: One night can change everything. H/D slash. Updated again! Chapter 7: Harry, the sap that he is, falls into Draco's charms--and vice versa. Harry is one smooth operator, again. More snogging. w00t.
1. Murmurs and memories

A/N: This is my first slash fic, nonetheless H/D, so you gotta give me some leeway here. I think it's decent enough, but that's for you to judge. Anyway, to the summary.. Five years have passed, and Harry is finally allowed to, and ready, to face the Dark Lord.. But someone (Gee, guess who?) shows up and brings back old memories.. Okay, here it is, and I'm telling you that almost this whole fic, all I've written so far anyway, is flashback. Now to the fic.. Enjoy!

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Murmurs and memories

Harry Potter

My name is Harry Potter, and I am honestly and truly scared out of my wits right now.

Moments like this, you're supposed to be brave, right? Well, you try sneaking into the hideout of Lord Voldemort--alone, may I add--without your knees shaking, your hands quivering and yes, even your bladder shaking. You'll fail.

My stomach turns at the thought of all the Death Eaters I've cursed; I've used Impedimenta, Stupefy, Expelliarmus.. Even though they're the bad guys, I've never liked hurting people. Never. 

But of course, as I said, this _is_ the enemy. I have the right to use Cruciatus if necessary.

I doubt it is, but I hope not.

I race down a hallway, casually of course, and pause. The hallway ends abruptly with a small room lit by torchlight. A single hooded figure stands beside a wooden door.

Blue eyes, pale as ice, cut me open, autopsy me with their calculated expectancy.

It's been five years and yet I remember that gaze so well.

The figure hesitantly lifts the hood with one finger and flicks it off his head. 

Blonde hair, longish. A smooth, pale face, as if he was carved from ice, untouched, pure.

He's beautiful, like I remember. Still beautiful as he was when he was a teenage boy of 15. Ethereal.

He doesn't speak a word, and neither do I. I consider everything I could say, but words fail this moment.

And I remember.

Draco Malfoy 

I remember watching him cry.

His wispy, boyish form, crouched, shaking, tears breaking onto bathroom tile like perverse pebbles in a pond.

"Fuck you," he said, wiping his eyes, still shuddering with pain. "Fuck you, Malfoy."

And I should've laughed. Made a comment. _Kicked_ him. _Something_.

But I didn't.

Instead I looked down at him, head cocked to the side, and pulled the tear soaked glasses from his face.

His eyes, a startled green narrowed, opened wide again as I revealed nothing, said nothing. I'd never noticed how green they were behind those glasses and I gazed into them, those eyes of dizzying green…

I had no idea how long we stood, staring into each other's eyes in dead silence until I finally offered my hand to him.

He looked over at the gesture, shocked, surprised, then let me pull him up. His grip was surprisingly strong, but he released my hand quickly.

He hesitated, did a double-take at my neutral features. Eventually he said, "Malfoy--" in a tone so crisp you could rake it.

Was this a dream? An opportunity so rarely offered, the weakness of my rival handed to me on a silver platter! 

And yet I did nothing.

"Yes?" So mild, he could have asked me the time at King's Cross, instead of--well, _this_, whatever this was--in a bathroom at one in the morning at Hogwarts.

I must have shocked him, because he was momentarily robbed of speech. Surprised by my own smoothness, I wiped his lenses, put them gently back on his face, fingertips lingering on his cheek..

"Get some sleep." No hate. It was as if I left it behind when I perchance entered a boy's bathroom at one in the morning and found him sobbing there.

Perhaps it was pity?

I left him standing there, hoping it was a dream and that everything would make sense the next day.

It didn't. It never did again after that night.

__

Harry Potter

The next morning at breakfast, our eyes locked. His eyes, an innocent indigo the night before, were now ice blue, impenetrable.

It hurt for some reason. I glared away.

Small talk at the Gryffindor table. I didn't pay attention, it was something about the upcoming OWLs. Ever since last night, everything..

Everything was packed in cotton wool. Except _him_.

I had broken down. Right there, in the second floor bathroom. The stress of school, social activity, and that Voldemort was out there, free to do what he pleased while I sat every night in safety able to do nothing, hit me hard.

And then Malfoy came in with his curious blank expression and turned my world upside down, confused everything, made black turn white.

There was a tap on my shoulder. I looked up to see expectant glances. I supposed I'd been asked a question.

"What?" I said.

Hermione rolled her eyes and said loudly, "I _asked_ you if you're ready for the Quidditch match. Didn't you have practice last night?"

"Oh!" A subject to think about except Malfoy. "Yeah. I'm fine." I brought a vague forkful of egg to my mouth. "Should be great." Slipped it into my mouth, chewed.

Ron looked scandalized. "Harry, you're going up against Slytherin," he said indignantly. "And Snape's refereeing. This isn't Hufflepuff, you know." He gave a lopsided grin. "Not that I'm worried."

"Have faith in your Seeker," I said, forcing a smile. "Have I failed you before?"

"Well--" Ron knit his scarlet eyebrows together in a mockery of consideration. I hit him neatly on the shoulder.

"You're _supposed_ to say no," I said in mock severity.

"But that'd be lying!" Ron pretended to be shocked. I stifled a laugh.

Fred appeared behind Ron and clapped him on the shoulder. "Nonsense, nonsense," he said 

heartily. "Harry's a fantastic Seeker, great."

George appeared beside Fred. "Mind you, he tends to have bad luck--"

"--Extremely bad--" Fred inserted smartly.

"--Overbearingly bad luck, but a jolly good Seeker nonetheless. Isn't that right, Fred?"

"To the word," Fred agreed.

Fred and George never failed to cheer me, and as they dialogued like improvisational masters, I almost forgot about last night. 

Almost. Until I realized I had forgotten. Then I shot a look at the Slytherin table.

There he was; sharp shoulders and smooth, cold features suggesting a perfectly chiseled ice sculpture, a work of art. His head turned my way, he looked hard at me, his eyes softened from ice to snowmelt, then hardened again. He looked away, and so did I; he looked back, and so did I.

Damn him. I had never thought of him this way before; _beautiful? Perfect?_ What had that git done to my head?


	2. A strange day at Potions class

**__**

A strange day at Potions class

Draco Malfoy

I walked with Crabbe and Goyle on the way to Potions, as usual, when a hand gripped my shoulder and whirled me around.

Potter. Should I have been surprised? I kept my face expressionless. 

"Malfoy, we need to talk." Feinted hostility, I could tell. Apparently he was just as fucked-up as I was.

I raised a finger to stop Crabbe and Goyle from doing whatever their little primate minds were planning. "Go." I didn't give them a second look. Their plodding footsteps faded.

"What is it, Potter?" I tried to keep myself as neutral as possible, tried to keep from looking into those eyes of verdant green.

"I don't want you feeling sorry for me." His eyes flared; he shoved me into the wall. I revealed nothing.

"Don't you worry about that, I'm not." Cold, yet not hateful. I hadn't been able to hate him since..

"I don't _want_ you feeling _sorry_ for me," he repeated, staring into my face. I looked over at the ceiling; my attraction to his eyes was unsettling. "What happened last night--"

"Do you think I'm going to laugh at you?" I interrupted, surprised even by my own words, my voice so loud and yet hushed.

He seemed startled, brushed his disobedient hair from his face. "Well, yes--you've got quite a record when it comes to that.."

I looked at him, looked into those eyes I'd never noticed, saw the scar that had separated us since the moment we met in my peripheral vision. He stared at me, and I stared back.

We were uncomfortably close. I pushed him away gently with a hand to the chest and said, "Things change. People change. Think about it; you've changed too. I can tell." Then I left him there, went to Potions.

Harry Potter

What is anger? I thought as I stared at the back of Malfoy's head in Potions. I was fuming, but it wasn't the same anger I usually felt for him.

Ron's elbow jabbed a sharp exclamation into my side. "What's wrong?" he hissed. "You're blushing and staring off into space... what's going on?"

I blinked, turned quickly towards him. _Blushing?_ "Nothing," I snapped, perhaps too harshly because he recoiled.

"Fine, fine," he shot back hurriedly. "It's just that.. well, you're acting weird today."

I sagged, released muscles I had tensed in the misunderstanding of my own thoughts. "I'm sorry; it's just the Quidditch match." It was, sort of. The Quidditch match where I'd be pitted against Malfoy. I had to figure my thoughts out before then, or I'd never be able to keep on my broom, nonetheless catch the Snitch.

I kept feeling his fingertips lingering on my face...

"Don't worry about it," Ron said. "I was kidding about the Seeker thing. You'll do great. 

You always do." The usual note of jealousy that he inserted into statements like that. 

There wasn't much I could do. Everything did happen to me, but _trust me_, it was not a good thing.

"Sure," I said, nodded blankly.

Ron squinted at Malfoy, then leaned over to me again. "Malfoy's quiet. Hasn't made a comment yet today. I wonder why?"

I forced a smile, pushed away the blank, thoughtful expression, pushed away the need to say, "_He's probably just as fucked-up as I am right now, that's why,"_ or _"Oh, it's just that he found me crying in a bathroom and is pitying me now, the asshole, that's all, Ron."_

Instead, I said, "Probably worrying about how badly Slytherin will be beaten today, I reckon."

Why did I feel different about him? What changed at that moment, that he and I could be so different now? 

Why couldn't I bring myself to hate him anymore?

It sounded strange even to me, but the fact that Draco Malfoy was an annoying little git was a thing that grounded me. It was a thing that made the world real.

And now, he wasn't. Not seemingly, anyway. He didn't try to curse me, show me up in front of Snape, insult me. He just spouted strange poetic sentiments and made me think too much. Made me think too much about what he said, but more importantly, he made me think too much about..

Him.

Draco Malfoy

Was he stupid? I felt his eyes glaring into the back of my head. If he kept that up Snape would be on him in a second. Apparently he didn't realize how obvious it was. 

I did my usual act; pretending to be enthralled but actually bored because I knew how to make all the potions in the books already. In fact, it actually took effort to look interested now, because for once I had something to think about.

What was happening to me? All hatred and rivalry gone between Potter and I, just furious misunderstanding on what happened that night. I didn't want to hurt him. I didn't want to torture him.

I didn't want to make him suffer.

This went against all Malfoy blood, my father's teachings, my family's legacy. Against the House rivalry. This went against it, this strange truce of sorts that he and I had. 

"Mr. Malfoy?" I heard Snape's voice nearby. I looked up at him, and he gave me the same simpering smirk as he usually did. Kiss-ass; he wanted to be on good terms with my father. He wouldn't, after what he had done to the Death Eaters. "What is the next ingredient we add after the sliced caterpillars?"

I knew this, I knew this book from cover to cover. Granger wasn't the only smart one. "Pheasant tail-feather, Professor." He nodded, I nodded. When I was certain he wasn't looking, I gave him the most withering look I could manage.

"Now," Snape said, "we will make this potion, the Draught of Strength, able to make one man as strong as ten.

"Here--" His eyes flickered to the Gryffindors-- "if any of you are imbecile enough to think of trying to drink this potion we have created, you must realize.. this book allows three doses to be created with the amount of ingredients you are using. If you attempted to drink this.. the results would be worse than grotesque."

Dead silence. I stood rigidly forward, realizing suddenly that fighting to keep my thoughts on the class was not my only problem--Potter's eyes were burying a hole in my skull. I had 

to turn around, had to, but couldn't. Dammit.

Luckily, Snape saved the day again, unknowingly. "Mr. Potter?" Voice now dangerously smooth, he slid past the Slytherins and stopped at Potter and Weasley's table. "What is so fascinating about that section of wall over there, if I may ask?" Was Snape blind? Couldn't he tell that Potter was staring at me? Or was he sucking up to me yet again? 

I turned around casually, watched the unfolding situation, and his eyes met mine. He jerked his glance away and looked up at Snape. "Nothing, sir," Potter said in razor tones. 

"Five points from Gryffindor for lack of attention and talking back," Snape shot out. 

Potter didn't even blink, and I didn't blame him; if he was as messed up as I was, he had good reason to not worry, plus it was becoming routine for at least five points to be taken from Gryffindor. This was the first time I hadn't laughed.

I ventured to catch Potter's eye again, succeeded; it took me all I could to not stare into his eyes, no matter how hidden by glasses. I allowed a half-smirk to cross my face and turned back around. 

I couldn't help but think about him. The more disturbing question was if he was the same way. It had to be, or else why would he burn holes into my skull with his glare? How else could he not be able to stop looking at me?

If he was feeling the same way, this upcoming Quidditch match would be interesting.

To say the least.


	3. Reality bites

A/N: Okay. So here's the third chapter that took forever for me to write. I warn you, this is a huge chapter. The usual H-D-H viewpoint is not valid in this one because it's too damn long, instead it's H-D-H-D-H. You'll see. Anyway, there's a confrontation and a Quidditch match, that's all I'll say.

This will lead to the next, shorter (and thank the Lord, easier to write!!) chapter which is going to lead to something. Perhaps a snog? Hmm. I don't know. Now stop reading my rant and get to reading! You'll be doing that for quite a while, I reckon..

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Reality bites

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Harry Potter

I put my glasses on and stared into the mirror. "You can't let the git get to you," I said. "Punch him if he says a thing." I smirked. "Yeah, _that'll_ work."

I stepped out of the changing rooms and ran right into him. I stepped back and right into a wall. I looked up at him with that damn indifferent look on his face again. "What do _you_ want?" I snapped.

He shrugged. "I wanted to wish you luck." He held out his hand. As if I would shake it. I shoved him away; he stumbled back and looked back up at me with surprise in his eyes.

I snorted derisively. "Nice try. What are you trying to do?"

Something flared in his eyes. Indecision? Hurt? No. Suddenly his hands grabbed my shoulders and he shoved me hard against the wall. "Listen, Potter," he snapped. "I thought that maybe we could grow up a little, live and learn, all the damn clichés. But you acting like a child won't solve a damn thing. So, fine," he said. "I'll sink to your level. If you can't be a man and talk civilly to me, I'll tell everyone that I found you sobbing like a baby on the second floor bathroom."

I dropped my broom. The sound seemed to vibrate through the tunnel, loud as the tremors of the earth. "Not very civil," I said.

"Indeed," he said, and smirked. "Open your eyes and see for once. Don't you know that with the way you're living, you'll be dead the next time the Dark Lord attacks you?" I glared down at the ground. Truth burrowed sharply into my conscious.

"All you are is a child," he said. It stung. I glared into his eyes and saw hurt. I broke away. "An immature, helpless child with good luck. If you weren't Wonderboy you'd be pathetic. In fact--"

I saw red. I swung without realizing, hit him a great deal harder that I knew I could; he stumbled back, tripped, fell, a red mark emblazoned across his cheek.

I looked at my fist. It stung like mad, but the adrenaline of anger and madness released all that. When I looked up, Draco was on his feet again. He was flushed, eyes dark tempest grey. "You bastard," he said. "You dare touch me?"

"If you would learn to shut your bloody mouth, Malfoy, I wouldn't have had to."

His eyes narrowed to cruel blue slits. He swung. Pain lit up the side of my face, I flew back, hit the wall hard. I managed to look up. I saw not only anger but disappointment and that which shocked me the most: hurt.

"Fuck you, Potter," he said. "Fuck you." And he walked away.

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Draco Malfoy

__

That bastard!

I sat alone on the field. Trembling with anger and a hurt that started somewhere in the center of my ribs. 

__

How dare he? How dare he punch me? He will pay dearly. I am a Malfoy. 

He would pay dearly for hurting me..

I found myself crying. The tears stung where he had punched me. I tried to force myself into calm. Lucius Malfoy's son, sobbing on the Quidditch field...

I wiped my face with the sleeve of my emerald robe. I probably looked a sight, tear-streaked and bruised. My lip felt tender, and when I touched it, I realized I was bleeding.

What lie could I make up? If McGonagall saw both me and Harry, she'd figure it out and I'd probably get thrown out. Wonderboy would be able to stay, of course.

"Bloody hell," I said. I got to my feet and smoothed my robes down.

"Draco?" Pansy's voice rang over the field. I froze, looked up, looked away. 

__

No, anyone_ but her.._

I quickly cleaned myself up as best as I could. "Pansy," I said. "What are you doing here so early?" I tried not to make eye contact but she sat beside me.

"Looking for you," she said simply, then looked at me. "What's wrong?"

"What?" Still didn't dare look up.

"Don't 'what' me. You look like hell." She touched my cheek. I jerked away.

"Thanks a lot, Pansy."

"I mean, you look like a wreck. You're still as handsome as ever." I shook my head. "What happened?"

I sighed. "Pansy, _I'm_ not even sure what happened. It's complicated." More than _you'll_ ever know, I added inwardly. How could I ever explain how I felt to her? The sudden attraction? _I_ didn't even understand it.

I took a deep breath. "Pansy, the match will start soon. You had better get up to the bleachers."

She bit her lip. "All right. Good luck, Draco." She kissed me on the cheek and it smarted. "Don't let Potter win this one."

Even though she didn't know it, she had voiced my thoughts exactly.

__

Don't let Potter win this one. Stay strong.

So I hoped.

__

Harry Potter

I had gotten the bones removed from my arm, grown back those bones in my arm, healed burns, scratches and cuts, all done with magic.

All of that and I couldn't even think of a good bruise-banishing spell. Maybe it'd pay to pay some attention.

So I walked around with as much dignity as I could summon and ignored the looks that Fred, our new team captain, and the others gave me. Alicia was our new Keeper and amazingly good at it. We had a second year Chaser, Natalie McDonald, fill in Alicia's old spot. She was pretty good for her first year of Quidditch.

We went out there as soon as the roar of the crowd began. It seemed the whole school had shown up. Not that I was surprised, of course.

The Slytherins walked over in their emerald green robes. Malfoy and I avoided eye contact as if we could contract the plague by meeting each other's gazes.

I was frightened, just a bit, by the hurt I had seen in his eyes. If he was hurt--if I could hurt him--if he would allow me to hurt him--why _would_ I hurt him? At that instant I realized that I could not blindly hate him, because now he was _real_. I had seen the real him. His real emotions. Being a decent human being, how could I hurt him again?

"Damn," I muttered.

Fred looked over at me. "Catch the bloody Snitch," he said. "Perfect weather, no way Malfoy can beat you there. Catch it or die trying."

George snorted. "You sound like Wood."

Fred shook his head. "First game of the year. We've got to win it." Then he grinned. "And I know I sound like Wood. It's the rigors of the calling."

I attempted a grin then glanced at Madame Hooch. "Mount your brooms!" she barked. Then she blew her whistle. We went up. I watched her release the Snitch, watched it flit back and forth until it disappeared in a shower of gold glitter. 

Madame Hooch tossed up the Quaffle and Angelina caught it. The field suddenly exploded with activity. I glanced around, just hoping for the vaguest hint of the Snitch. Malfoy came into my vision and I blinked as he turned just a little bit towards me.

Were those tears on his face? No, it couldn't be. Just a trick of the light.. 

A _whoosh_ of air past my ear, a Bludger. I saw Fred turned towards me. He must have deflected it towards me by accident. He looked at me and yelled, "What are you doing? Daydreaming? Get to it!"

I nodded and began to scope out the area. Not a single sign. "Twenty-zero, Gryffindor leading, come on now Angelina, weave--All right, Professor, all right--Gryffindor Chaser Angelina Johnson has the Quaffle, heading towards the goal--Yeah! Thirty-zero, Gryffindor leads!" Lee Jordan at his microphone again. I shook my head and scoped. 

Malfoy was over at the goalposts. Did he see something I didn't? I squinted, flew down a bit closer. The Quaffle suddenly dropped past me and a huge Slytherin Chaser, Warrington, flew past me--almost knocking me off my broom--and caught it. "Slytherin possession," Lee Jordan groaned. "Warrington heads for the goal, shoots--and Alicia saves it! YEAAAAH!" 

A glint of gold caught my eye to my far right. Draco had already spotted it and was flying over to it. I flew as fast as I could--_no way in hell he's getting there before me_--and got there a split second before he did. We both grabbed at the Snitch, but it flew up. We flew up, still parallel to one another until Draco gave me this look of complete determination and elbowed me right in the face. 

I stopped for a split second, nursing what felt like a bleeding lip. He flew up and nearly caught the Snitch, but it shot up faster than he could fly and disappeared again. I set my jaw. All right then. If that was how it was going to be, that was how it was going to be. 

Screw not hurting him. This was Quidditch. Basically, then, _this_ meant _war_.

__

Draco Malfoy

So I didn't catch the Snitch. So what? There was time. The good thing was, Potter didn't get it and I didn't get a penalty for elbowing him. The crowd saw it--that was obvious from the booing. But did I care? No.

I wasn't about to become the victim. No. I was the Slytherin Seeker and damn if I was going to let Harry Potter the Wonderboy get past me, no matter what the hell was going on in our normal lives. This was Quidditch.

For the first time in two days, things made sense. One main objective: win. For the first time in two days, I could look at Potter and think: enemy. It was refreshing. 

That idiot Lee Jordan was at the microphone again. "And Gryffindor is still leading, forty-ten, McDonald in possession!--she shoots!!--and the Slytherin Keeper catches.. Slytherin possession.." I smiled to myself. We had Millicent Bulstrode for our Keeper--honestly, it amazed me that a broom could hold her in the air--and she was amazing. Slow, but amazing. I would have pegged her for a Beater, honestly.

I glanced around and saw Potter shoot a dirty look at me. I smirked back. He turned away and continued to watch the field for any sign. I watched him. He'd lead me right to the Snitch if I played my cards right. 

One of the Bludgers pelted past me and I glared up to see Bole looking apologetic. "Hit the Gryffindors, you idiot!" I yelled, huffed, then glanced back to Potter. He was gone from the spot I'd last seen him. "Dammit!" I looked around frantically. I saw him behind the goalposts, almost right about the stands, flying as hard as he could. 

I shot over there as fast as I could--damning my father all the while for not buying me a Firebolt because of my grades, bloody hypocrite was outshone by a Mudblood too--and panicked as I saw him almost close his hand around the Snitch. "No!" I screamed, grabbed him by the back of the robes. They slipped from my fingers, but he turned around and gave me a look of poison. 

"Malfoy, get off!" His eyes so enraged--and was that _hurt_?--I paused, and my façade dropped again. "Honestly, you.." He glanced up. I followed suit and we saw the Snitch glittering about a hundred feet above us, to our left. We both glanced back down at one another, Potter said "See you, Malfoy," and shot over to it. I was a split second behind.

__

Don't let Potter win this one.

I put on an extra burst of speed, my joints aching in response; I was running purely on determination. I couldn't let him make a fool of me again. _I am a Malfoy, and I have pride and that cannot be taken from me._ My father lecturing at me about the superiority of the pureblood race, the purity of our blood. It had imbedded in me deeper than I had thought.

I saw the Snitch glittering there, ignored Potter's reach and my fingertips touched it; for one second I was there, I had the victory in my hands. Then he smashed into me, pain cracked through my arm and I could only see the bright sky as I fell, feel a spasm of pain as I landed.

Then, of course, the darkness of unconsciousness.

__

Harry Potter

I don't know how it happened. I don't know what happened to the broom that it bucked under me. But it did, and I crashed. Crashed right into Malfoy. I remember it throwing me off, clutching it with one hand as I fell like a stone nearly right beside Malfoy. 

The landing even worse than the crash. I was nearly crying with the pain, but even after a collision like that I was unwilling to let Malfoy see me cry. The biggest shock occurred when I clutched my hand to make sure it was still there and not broken. 

The Snitch quivered between my fingers. In my delirium, I thought: _Good. We've won._

I tried to sit up, glanced over at the still form of Malfoy. He looked to be unconscious. Perhaps he was dead. 

I managed to lean on my arm, but once I jogged my knee I fell back in pain. I blinked, closed my eyes, managed to open them again in the massive surge of pain and saw McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey standing above me. 

"Potter," Madame Pomfrey said. "You may as well rent a bed in my wing, you're in there so often." 

I was inclined to agree and would have but, at that moment, everything went black.


	4. Truces made and broken

A/N: Okay, here's the fourth chapter. It's only three sections, but still it's.. extremely large. So sue me. I'm really fond of this story but it's really hard to write, that's why this took so long. The next chapter will be up soon, I promise. Okay, um, in this chapter, we have the hospital wing and Transfiguration class.. Harry blackmails Draco… et cetera. No snogging here, sorry guys. Just didn't fit. Next chapter, I promise some, if only one for a cliffy. Now get to reading, this chapter's already huge.. 

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Truces mended and broken

Draco Malfoy

I awoke in complete and utter pain. I heard a groan and was surprised to find it wasn't coming from my lungs. I glanced first to my left--meriting a flash of pain from my left arm--and then to the right I saw Potter laying in a bed. This cost me so much pain I decided not to move at all.

The hospital wing. Of course. The Quidditch game. 

__

Bastard hit me with his damn broom. Only--the match, who won?

I felt his gaze on me, though I couldn't see him anymore. "Malfoy," he said. "You're awake." 

"Amazingly," I said. "Considering how hard you hit me, I should be dead right now. Think you're clever, do you? Killing both of us to try to catch the damn Snitch?"

His tone got much sharper and I could just imagine those strange green eyes of his narrowed. "You twit," he snapped. "I can't even move right now. My kneecap is shattered and my elbow might be, too. You think I'd do that on purpose?"

"I can't fathom your mind, Potter. All I know is that you've only lost a Quidditch game once. God knows what you'd do to not lose again."

"Did you ever think I was just lucky? Unlucky, in this case, you realize. Listen, I'm not a complete idiot." I heard the sheets move as he jerked in irritation and he let out a cry that made some part of my mind protest, want to help. I shoved that away.

Madame Pomfrey stepped in. "I told you not to move, Harry," she said. "We'll get to work on you later. You'll have to wait a moment. Do you mind?"

He just grunted. Apparently he didn't realize that the same pain was going through me even if I lay bolt still.

"Do you mind going first, Draco?" Madame Pomfrey said. "Your back injury is quite bad so I believe we should heal you first."

"Anything to stop the pain right now," I said with total honesty. "Please, do it." In my peripheral vision I saw her move towards me with her wand. "I suppose Wonderboy wouldn't mind skipping a few more classes lounging around in here. Won't be the first time."

Being an intolerable git is a full time job that I'm quite willing to fill, but it does become quite hard when your back is screaming agony at you in every moment. I was doing everything I could to not cry in front of Potter.

"Shut it, Malfoy," Potter said. I cried out as Madame Pomfrey stuck her wand under my back. 

To think of it, I didn't get the chance to ask.. "Who won the match?" I asked, somewhat muffled because my teeth were clenched. 

Madame Pomfrey looked down at me in surprise. "Gryffindor. He caught it as the broom bucked, at least that's what Professor Snape said he saw on his Omnioculars."

"What a shock," I said, but didn't have the energy to smirk. 

Madame Pomfrey murmured a spell, another wretched cry broke from my lungs as the healing magic burned and spread; I fell back onto the bed, panting. "I hate Quidditch," I panted, tears pinpricking my eyes with the pain. 

"You two need to keep out of trouble," Madame Pomfrey said, her lips pursed in such a way I couldn't help but laugh, partly in relief. 

"I try," Potter said. "But it follows me." Now that the major pain was gone, I felt his eyes on me. His gaze was very intent and very intense, so much that the sheets should have been scorching. 

"Stop staring at me, Potter."

"There's not much else to do but watch this," he said. "Besides, I might learn something. Why, am I making you nervous?" he said in a parody of my drawl. I scowled at him.

"In fact, you are." Madame Pomfrey lifted my knee and my teeth gritted of their own volition. "This is difficult enough," I managed to say.

"It'll only be a moment, Draco," she said, comforting. "Just one moment." She held my knee with one hand, her wand touched it with the other, and I watched her lips move as she spoke another spell; I couldn't hear it. There was a cracking sound that I barely heard as I arched and fell back. Madame Pomfrey released my knee. "I warn you, it'll hurt, but not nearly as much as before." I sat up, clutched my back, then looked around, testing my back muscles. Medicinal magic is a wonder, I must admit, even as a Pureblood.

"Thank God," I said, sinking back into the bed. "Thank you, Madame Pomfrey."

She smiled. "It's my job." She looked at Potter with a disapproving smile. "It's your turn, Harry."

"Joy," he said. I stood, tested my back again and glanced up at Potter. He looked at me. We looked away from one another and I started to leave. "Draco--" I heard him say.

I turned, tensed. "Yes?"

"Despite the, um, crash and all... that was a good game." At the look on his face, so serious and yet shocked, I flushed. He might have noticed, because a faint smile appeared on his face. 

"Thanks," I managed to say.

I couldn't think of anything else to say, so I just turned and started to leave. The last thing I heard was Madame Pomfrey saying to Harry as she hovered over him, "Now it's _your_ turn."

__

Harry Potter

They were working on turning chairs into chickens when I got to Transfiguration. I had gotten in right after McGonagall had explained the spell and how to use it, so Ron and Hermione (Okay, mainly Hermione) had to explain it to me.

"So you're all right?" Ron said. He didn't seem thrilled to start work, but that wasn't unusual. I nodded. Hermione was shaking her head disapprovingly at me.

"A shattered kneecap?" she said. "Quidditch is nothing but trouble for you. Why do you play it?"

"'Mione!" Ron stared at her. "'Why does he play it'--honestly!" He shrugged at me. "She just doesn't understand."

"No, I don't," she said. "Why a person would continue playing a sport that got them injured nearly every time they play it, I don't understand that."

"You'd rather see Malfoy win and win the House championship, would you?" I said. I attempted the spell and winced at the result. It looked like a chair upholstered with feathers. "Besides, it's one of the rare things I'm good at." I did the counterspell and sat down in the chair. "Unlike this class."

"Rare?" Ron said. Hermione let out a sound of assent. "You were in the Triwizard Tournament last year and won the bloody thing, I'd say you're talented."

Malfoy was staring at me. He had been the whole time since I had come in. It was making me very, very nervous. He had this way of intensely leering that I didn't think could be possible until I saw him do it.

"What's that bruise on your face?" Hermione asked. I dropped my wand. _I can't believe she missed the bruise. Oh, God._ I quickly grabbed my wand up again.

"Madame Pomfrey must have missed it," I said diffidently. "I shatter my kneecap and you worry about a bruise, Hermione?"

"It's just odd. Madame Pomfrey should have healed it. Plus, you crashed onto your elbow, how could you get a bruise on your face from that?" Damn Hermione and her logical mind. I shook my head.

"I don't know, Hermione. Does it matter?"

Hermione touched my cheek. I jerked back; it was still tender. Considering that Malfoy and I got in that fight about the same time yesterday, that made sense. "What happened?" she asked. "You're lying. You're covering up something."

Ron leaned forward, quite interested. "Come on, Harry, you can tell us." _What's so damn interesting about a bruise, anyway?_

"Listen, you guys, it's no big deal," I said. I paused as McGonagall came over and I silently sighed. _Thank God._ "Um, Professor McGonagall? Where's my Firebolt?"

She looked at the chair I was supposed to be transfiguring, and I quickly jerked out of it. The movement mildly aggravated my knee, but I quickly got over it.

"It's being stripped," McGonagall said.

"Stripped?" I looked up at her, panicked. I'd heard that before, when I first got the broom from Sirius and they checked it for hexes. "Why?"

"We want to know why it bucked and--ahem--injured you and Draco Malfoy. So we are stripping it to check for the usual signs." She gave me a severe look. "You'll have it back before the match against Ravenclaw, don't worry. I like the Gryffindor House winning streak as much as you do. But safety is important, no matter what you may think."

She left, and I looked over at Hermione and Ron. "What, does she think I enjoy lounging in the hospital wing? The place smells like lacewings rotting in formaldehyde."

Ron snorted. "Enough of that," he said. "Back to the bruise. What happened? Did you get in a fight?"

"Nothing major." I rethought that statement. "Er--" I coughed. "Really, it's nothing." This is why I am not known as the most suave person; I am also not the greatest liar in the world.

"You're lying," Hermione said. She was grinning. "It's funny, watching you lie. You're an awful liar." She changed her perfect chicken back into a chair and slumped into it. "So, what really happened?"

There was no way I could win. I sighed, lowered my voice. "All right, I did get in a fight, but no one knows and I definitely don't want McGonagall to know. So keep quiet, all right?"

"Fantastic," Ron whispered. He was grinning. "A real fight. Who was it? A Slytherin, I reckon. Was it Malfoy?" He glanced over at Malfoy. "It must have been, he's giving you a death glare. A real fight," he said again.

"Shut it for a second, Ron," Hermione said. She looked quite disapproving, somewhat like McGonagall. "I want to hear."

"Yeah, it was Malfoy," I said. "He was skulking about the hallway by the Gryffindor changing rooms before the match. We--well, we exchanged words, and he got uppity, and well, I kind of punched him."

"Kind of?" Hermione said, shocked. "How do you 'kind of' punch somebody? Try to punch them in the face and hit their _ear_ or something?"

I sighed. "Okay, I did punch him, right on in the jaw, and he punched me back. Thus, I have the bruise. That's the story."

"Wow," Ron said. "This thing with Malfoy is getting bad. He's never even touched you before. And the only one of us who's ever hit him is, well--" He grinned at Hermione.

"Oh, quiet," Hermione said. She rolled her eyes at me. "That Time-Turner drove me mad, and Hagrid and all of that, I just couldn't stand him any longer. I bet Harry just couldn't take him any more, either. Isn't that right, Harry?"

__

You have no idea, Hermione.. "Something like that," I said. "He said a few things."

"Like what?" Ron said. Telling him that would require me to tell him about everything, and even though he's my best friend, I couldn't.

He wouldn't believe me anyway.

"The usual. Told me that he was a pawn of evil and all that, et cetera." I stood, pointed my wand at the chair and said "_Chiaronus_!" There was a puff of smoke and a chicken clucked away. I grinned at Hermione and Ron.

"Pretty good," Hermione said. "Even though it's brown."

I have never been good at Transfiguration, and even to this very day I cannot turn a match into a needle.

__

Draco Malfoy

I'm usually known as the king, or at least duke or baron of subtlety. But I have the feeling that at that moment in that Transfiguration class, sneaking glances at Potter like some lovesick schoolgirl--okay, bad comparison--some shifty spy, I would have lost that title.

It wasn't just fascination. It wasn't. It was… it was partially worry. Had he seen me on the Quidditch field after the fight? Wouldn't he have mentioned it in the hospital wing, or did he mean to torture me later? What were they whispering about over there, and why was Weasley looking over at me?

Class ended, and McGonagall didn't even take a second look at my perfect chicken, while she praised Granger to no end. And they said Snape did favoritism.

I couldn't take it much longer. Weasley was staring at me with a death glare. I stood, calmly walked over to him and said: "Yes?"

"What?" he said innocently. 

"You were staring at me."

"I was not."

"Liar. But I suppose that's a skill needed for a beggar." Weasley flinched. "I suppose they don't give you pence if they know you're begging for money for Chudley Cannons merchandise."

He stood and got right in my face. "Another comment about my family, Malfoy, and I'll beat you senseless," he whispered.

"Bring it on," I said. And it looked as though he would have if Harry hadn't jerked him back.

"Ron, you're going to get yourself expelled," Harry snapped at him. He looked back at me with a look that was almost hurt, that said: "I thought we had a truce." 

"What do you want?" I said. "My business is with him." I shot a look at Weasley. He glared back.

He gently pushed me a few steps back. "I have to talk to you, Malfoy. There's something you have to know." _What? What is he talking about?_

"What is this?"

He leaned over--uncomfortably close, may I add?--and whispered, "I saw you, Malfoy. On the Quidditch field." I flinched, and was unhappy for it. _How could he have seen? _"That's right, Malfoy. I saw you crying like a baby on the Quidditch field."

I tried to put on a smirk, but terror rocked through me. They would believe him. I couldn't have my reputation ruined… I put up a huge front. "How funny this is," I said. "I was saying the same thing yesterday to you."

I backed up, and hit the wall. I avoided his eyes. "What do you want," I said.

"Just lay off Ron and Hermione."

"As long as your Mudblood and Muggle-lover buddies stay away from me," I said, trying to sound calm, "I won't say a word."

"Then we have an understanding." He stepped away, grinning. "This blackmail thing is handy."

"Don't get used to it." I beckoned to Crabbe and Goyle and tried not to storm away. That would mean he won.

"Don't forget, Malfoy," he said.

"I won't," I said.

And I didn't. It kept me up all of that night. 

Who says who the good guys and the bad guys are? 


	5. Trapped

A/N: Mwahahahahaha! Less dialogue in this one than was probably in a single page in the other ones. But there's a lot of thoughts from our protagonist and antagonist. Man, I love Draco. He's so fun. Harry's just… eh. The Peter I refer to when Draco's talking is not Pettigrew, it's Peter from the Bible. I myself have fun inserting random religious references into what is supposedly pagan literature. But here you go, here's the chapter. Hurry up and read… *Awful Trelawney impression* I see… I see… I see snogs in your future! Oh wait, that's just in the fanfic… 

Read, damn you!

**__**

Trapped

Harry Potter

He stayed to his promise. He didn't say a word to any of us, didn't even attempt to provoke Ron.

I had hurt him, even so, and I felt like an absolute prat.

He wasn't an arrogant rich snot. Well, okay, maybe he was an arrogant rich snot, but there was more to him than that. I had seen it in his eyes.

God, why did things have to get so damn complicated?

I kept seeing the guarded look, furious, that he gave me in Transfiguration when I... hell, there's no way to dress it up, I blackmailed him. Even that bland look he had after _that night_ spoke volumes; now, though, he was blocking me out. And he was surprisingly good at it.

Now, at lunch the next day, I was watching him out of the corner of my eye. Why? I didn't know, really. It wasn't fear. He wouldn't hurt me, because then I would tell, and his family-- I bet they'd be furious at him for "shaming the family name."

Me, though... ha, I never got the chance to shame _my_ family.

It was more of a morbid curiosity. Like picking at a scab--okay, definitely the wrong metaphor there--like Pandora's box. _What's going on in his head? Let me peek... I want to see. _

Ron hadn't shut up about what he thought I had said to Draco. "Did you say something about his family? Did you tell him you knew about..." he strained his memory. "The room under the drawing room floor, that's right? Am I right?"

I sighed. "Ron, does it matter? You see the effect."

The only effective lie is a good one.

I am an awful liar, mind you, but for some reason that little blackmail lie was one of the rare ones that stuck. Those tears I thought I saw on his face could have been real, I figured, and even if they weren't I'd spread the rumour once I threatened him with it. Either way, I'd win.

It was devious. It was not a Gryffindor thing to do. I was a little proud of that.

I never actually thought he'd believe me and trust me. Though this was the desired effect, I never thought it would work as well as it was working. 

And still one tiny brain cell of mine was cruelly laughing among the pitying ones. _He cried. He admitted to it. I can't believe he actually admitted to it... _

I didn't like to think of myself as a bleeding-heart, but I didn't want to be cruel, either. Two years ago, I saved Wormtail and allowed him to later escape and rejoin Voldemort.

I should have let him die, the pathetic rat. The sniveling, inhuman creature who I saved out of pity.

I glanced at Malfoy suddenly, thinking of Pettigrew, and I saw similarities. The same pleading look in the face of Pettigrew two years ago in the Shrieking Shack was on Malfoy's face yesterday in Transfiguration.

I would eventually end up showing Malfoy mercy, too, and I damn well knew it. Because I'm not cruel and I don't like seeing people suffer.

Bad guys are allowed to be bad, but are allowed to turn good. Good guys, though, must stay firmly on the side of good, or there came the villagers with their pitchforks. Do one bad thing and no one will ever trust you again. Okay, Ron, take the scar, and the burden of being a hero. I don't want it.

Malfoy had it so easy. He could do whatever he wanted just because people expected him to. What did people expect me to do? Oh, not much, just save the world, that's all.

No wonder I was going mad. Hermione snapped under stress about an exam, and I was supposed to be calm? I was supposed to remain calm knowing that Voldemort was out there, murdering and terrorizing while I sat here, under almost perfect safety?

I was supposed to be _normal_? 

I wanted to apologize. My conscience crying out for me to relieve Draco of the anguish I had given him. 

That twinge of revenge sat smugly in my conscience among the searing fire of shame and refused to be ignored. I'm only human; that twinge was normal.

I'm only human, but I'm trapped as a hero. And heroes can't make mistakes.

__

Draco Malfoy

Potter had me in the corner mentally and emotionally, and I didn't like it at all.

Had to block him out, or else I'd go insane knowing that he had power over me. Had to ignore him or I'd humiliate myself even worse than _he_ could.

I hated being weak, so I just ignored it. It wasn't really working, to be honest.

I couldn't even taste the lunch, and that's a lot to say for Hogwarts food. One word to describe the food there is _rich_. Pansy may have been trying to get my attention, and she was failing at it.

It didn't help that Potter was staring at me. What was this, some sort of game to him? No, Potter wasn't that clever or devious. That was more something I'd do. 

Was he trying to drive me mad? If so, he was succeeding. 

"Draco," Pansy's voice finally broke through my thoughts. "What's wrong? Why are you so far gone? Talk to me, Draco."

"I'm just thinking," I said. "It's not like I'm catatonic."

"You have been, since Transfiguration yesterday," Pansy insisted. "What did Potter say to you? Was it about the Quidditch match?"

She knew. Dammit. That was right.

"Pansy, it's not important. I just don't feel like being my usual witty self today, that's all." I smirked at her. The look on her face showed that she didn't believe a word of it.

"Whatever he said, ignore it. You're a _Malfoy_--" heh, she said it like it was a good thing-- "and whatever some stupid Gryffindor says doesn't matter. You have the dignity of countless generations of pure blood. Who cares what Potter says?"

The smirk dropped from my face. "You sound like my father," I said.

"No," she said. "I sound like my father. I sound like _all_ of our fathers." 

Slytherins. Sure, we're bad and all that but we're trapped in our facades and our pride. We're trapped in our stereotype and there's no way to step out, because there's nowhere else to go. Except up to the light, you think, right? Wrong.

For example, the Quidditch match. I was honestly trying to make nice when I tried to shake his hand. And just because, just because I had to uphold the Malfoy name, I had to keep the pride of our pure blood, he pushed me away. And that pissed me off, because I had thought for one fleeting moment that perhaps Potter and I could have been more than enemies.

He had dashed my hopes not once, not twice, but three times. Playing the Peter to my Jesus, denying me thrice before the cock crow. And he more than anyone else had me trapped in the Slytherin image, him with his life painted in black and white, good and evil, Potter and the Dark Lord, all that.

I left the Great Hall, ignoring Pansy, fleeing. Anger flushed my face and I couldn't keep myself from shaking.

Fuck him. _Fuck him_, because he had me trapped in a stereotype and with his narrow mind and good intentions, he didn't know anything. I, more than anyone, knew that there is no good and no evil. 

"There is only power, and those too weak to see it." Father always said that. Potter had so much power over me it made me sick. 

He had me trapped in such a range of emotions, all but indifference, the one that would allow me to ignore him. And with that power over me, he was destroying me.

I--a pureblood, a Malfoy--was trapped, and could do nothing for it.

__

Harry Potter

Where the hell was he?

He wasn't in the Great Hall. Pansy Parkinson, usually his shadow, was just sitting rather forlornly at the Slytherin table. 

The good guy instinct had taken over. I had to find him, spare him, stand valiantly as he thanked me and I would, of course, accept his gratitude with a block of salt, because he would do it again.

The hero complex doesn't work much in real life. The pity is, when it's in your system, you can't resist it. The guilt was searing my gut and I could barely taste the food I was eating. Being a good guy was not rewarding, it was not exciting, and it was certainly not fun.

"I have to go," I said to Ron and Hermione, who were currently having a tiff about something or another. I wasn't exactly paying attention.

The next was so bizarre; they looked at me in perfect sync and said, "Where?" 

"I'll explain... later," I said, feeling rather stupid. "I, um..." Ron and Hermione were still staring at me. "What?"

"All right," Hermione said. "Do it. I must admit, I preferred Malfoy being quiet, but if you want to go get him to be an annoying git again, that's your choice."

Ron stared at her now. "What?"

"It's obvious, isn't it? That's what he's going to do."

"All right," Ron said. "But make sure that you get something out of this, he's got loads of money. Blackmail is supposed to involve some contraband usually, right?"

"He is not going to extort money from Malfoy," Hermione said. She gave Ron a disapproving look. "No matter how much he may deserve it. At least get him to shut up with the pureblood-Muggleborn thing, if you can, all right, Harry?" She smiled at me, Ron grinned and gestured to the meaning of "get loads of Galleons."

"I hate being so obvious." I got up, Ron whispering "Remember, extortion!" at my back, and started to search for him. I headed for the dungeons first.

The money thing wasn't a bad idea, to be honest. I really could if I wanted to, but that wasn't in the script. I would tell him that I wasn't going to do anything, then he would thank me and walk away, and I would feel empty and stupid and then we'd go back to being enemies again.

I was almost relieved. Then again, none of that would happen if I couldn't find him. It was then that I heard the voice. 

"Not a bloody thing I can do," it half-said, half-sobbed. "Stupid Potter and his perfect hero complex, honor and all that, damn him... has it so damn easy... fuck him, stupid Harry Potter with his scar and his honor..."

That voice was really too familiar. Really, really familiar. After glancing around, I saw him. The light of the magic torches in the dungeons was too obvious against his fair hair and tear-soaked pale skin. "Draco Malfoy," I said.

Draco looked up at me. "Fuck you, Potter, what are you doing here?" he said. It wouldn't have surprised me if he spat actual venom at me. His eyes were dark, deep water blue; so strange that his eyes changed colors. He narrowed his eyes and glared away. "Get off. I don't care what you have to say. Go away." His voice became even. I didn't move. "Go away."

"No." I sat down beside him. "I won't. I have something to say to you."

"What? What, Potter? Are you going to say that you're sorry and you were just kidding?" I said nothing. "That's what I thought. Fine. You know, Potter.." he said. "You're no better than me when it comes down to it. You're just as devious and cunning as any one of us Slytherins. You make yourself out to be this big hero when all you are is some lucky bastard who somehow manages to scrape by every time the bad guy steps in."

"I don't make myself out to be anything, Malfoy," I said with a little less spite than he had. "I just try to stay alive, just like everyone else."

"Not like everyone else," he said. "Like it or not, you're special. You're a hero. It's not hard to see that you don't like it, either, I hate to admit it. Only an idiot would like something like that. And you're far from stupid, Potter, I know that. You managed to blackmail a Malfoy."

"You have me all figured out," I said. I looked over at him. "Now how about you, Draco, huh? You're trapped in the bad boy myth. You can do anything you want, except anything good, because no one will trust you. I'm living proof of that, and I'm sorry. My emotions have been running a little high since..." _Since I looked into your eyes and saw a real person.._ "Since Voldemort was reborn," I finished lamely. "I wasn't thinking clearly and I'm sorry."

"That is blatantly clear," Draco said. "All right. Now that your conscience is served, I'm going to go. See you in hell, Potter." He brushed past me.

"What?" I grabbed him by the sleeve and stopped him. "That's no way to say thank you."

He shook my hand off his sleeve. "That's because I'm not. What do I thank you for? 'Oh, Potter, thank you so much for not telling everybody that I'm a crybaby even though you're the one who fucked with my head,'" he mocked in a high voice, then glared at me with still tear-rimmed eyes. "That's what you wanted? Well, fine. Thanks, Potter. I appreciate your... chivalry."

He turned away from me and for one second longing ripped through my senses. In my head a million different scenarios played, but the main one was there and happening right now, and it was the most unlikely one.

Draco Malfoy, son of a high-ranking Death Eater, being kissed by Harry Potter, his archenemy.

And Malfoy was kissing me back.


	6. The Snog of Death

A/N: HELL YES. I got this done, finally. It only took me about three months. All right, here's the response… I love this chapter now. Draco finally gets a bigger section of the chapter at the end, I thought I'd do him justice this time. He's so cute in this chapter. ^_^;; So's Harry. Either way, here you go. It's finally done!

****

The Snog of Death

__

Draco Malfoy

The first thought was: There is no way in _hell_ this could be happening. 

The second thought was: Damn, Potter's a good kisser.

The third thought was: Jesus Christ, I can't breathe.

We broke away, panting, and our eyes were now locked. He looked away quickly, glanced down at his watch. "Jesus Christ, Malfoy," he breathed.

"Thanks," I said.

"Not that, you git. There's about two minutes 'til Potions!" He grabbed his bag. "I'm not waiting for you, he hates me and if I'm late I'll be poisoned or something just as bad. You're in Slytherin, you're safe." He glanced at me, flushed. "See you there, Malfoy," he said, and bolted.

"I guess that's a compliment," I said to myself quietly and laughed. I wiped my face and found my lip was bleeding again. It seemed a bad omen. I hitched my bag up and hiked through the dungeons until I reached Potions. Snape didn't react when I arrived about a minute late.

Well, at least he's a Pureblood, I found myself thinking. Father won't have a complete coronary if he finds out. When he finds out. Yeah, right.

It's the Malfoy way to do something completely botched then have to do it all over again, and better. I had just snogged Harry bloody Potter, me, Draco Malfoy. I, for one, was not gay, nor was I gay with Harry Potter. It was going to explode in my face. But damn, I wanted more.

His lips slightly swollen now, how funny, his lip was bleeding again too. Like as if those two snogs were the Kiss of Death for us. If Father somehow found out about this strange occurrence, I would indeed be dead.

At least I'd leave a good-looking corpse.

__

Harry Potter

__

I'm not gay, I kept telling myself. _I have never been, and will never be attracted to men._

Damn, my arguments were weak. Especially considering that I had just full-out snogged that rich arrogant bastard. I huffed in disgust at myself and tried valiantly not to look in Malfoy's direction.

The movement caught Ron's attention. "So what happened with Malfoy?" he whispered, keen as anything.

I'd tell Ron about this around the time that the Dursleys joined up with Voldemort. "Nothing," I said.

He rolled his eyes. "What, are you kidding me?" I shook my head, mainly to deny but to also shut up the two conflicting points of view in my head. "Ah well." He grinned. I grinned faintly but tried my best to just not be noticeable.

"Are you all right?" Ron jabbed me in the side. "You're all green. And your lip's bleeding again."

"I dunno why," I lied.

"Well, if you need a good health potion or charm, ask Hermione," he said. "She'll whip anything up for you; she's been worried as all hell about you, you know that. The Quidditch match, this whole new thing with Malfoy... You-Know-Who... all of us are worried, really. It's a lot of stress on you."

__

Thanks, Ron, I didn't notice. "Yeah," I said. There wasn't much else to say.

Ron leaned back and watched Snape slink by, then leaned towards me. "Tell the truth,. What really happened?"

"I found him, told him I was sorry, he told me to sod off, and I did. The usual."

He shook his head. "How anticlimactic. Well, whatever."

I glanced up to see Draco intently staring at me. It bothered me more this time than any other time before, because now there was an almost tangible thought behind that stare. He raised his eyebrows slowly and I felt my face grow hot, not only with anger but with discomfort. _There is no way this is happening._ I turned back to Ron quickly and said, "So everyone thinks I'm going mad, hmm?"

"Never said that," Ron said, scratching his head. "You're reading between lines that aren't there."

"Is that right?" I lowered my voice. "You just said that everyone's worried about me, that I have really bad memories, lots of stress, et al. That pretty much boils down to 'Harry's under a lot of stress and he's going to snap if no one helps him relieve it.'" I shook my head. "I'm fine. And if I do need help, I'll ask for it."

"All right, Harry, all right," Ron said hurriedly. He looked back to the cauldron and swirled the potion around a bit more. There was packed silence between us, thick as a brick wall. 

Someone poked me in the back. I looked back and it was Hermione, elbows on the Potions tabletop. "So, what happened with Malfoy?" she said keenly. "Did you get in a fight again?"

I shrugged. "A truce, sort of. We didn't punch each other or anything."

"Oh well," she said. "Too bad." Her face dropped the amused look and picked up a vaguely serious one. "It's good you confronted him. This thing had to be resolved, Harry, or you'd have both gone mad."

"Are you so sure about Malfoy?" I said, and she flashed a smile. She gestured for me to lean closer to her, and she whispered in my ear.

"Honestly, I think he's a bit obsessed with you. All he's been doing is starting fights with you since first year and it's growing more frequent. Plus the fact that he hasn't been able to stop staring at you within the past week. I find it a bit odd, don't you?"

"I've accepted Malfoy as a fact of life after five years," I said. He was a different kind of fact of life now, admittedly, in a way I really didn't want to accept. "I don't think he's gotten any worse, personally."

"You punched him," Hermione said. All right, that was true. "And he punched you. I call that worse. You hadn't even touched him until then." I shrugged. She blinked and stared at me for a second.

"What?" I said. It was rather unnerving.

She touched my lip. "Your lip is bleeding." Her eyes narrowed. "You did fight, didn't you? Harry, there's no need to lie to me, I can tell when you're lying."

My lip was bleeding. How funny. The significance was not lost on me. I just shrugged, turned back to Ron.

"So we add the raven feathers first?" he said.

"Yeah," I said. I suddenly wished it was as simple as fighting, as fury, as blind rabbit punches. 

Hate was so simple compared to... what was this? Attraction? Lust?

...Love?

Love? Me, in love with Draco Malfoy?

I must have been going mad.

__

Draco Malfoy

It's funny, you know? How you can know someone exists and trace an outline of them in your head, no matter how little you actually know about them.

But there are moments, times where one is just... underscored. It's as though their existence, their life is opened to you for one small glance, and all you can think of or write is...

Them.

Contrary to what most would think, I was not one raging ball of machismo. I left that to the numbwits like Weasley and Potter. Though this event threatened a basic part of my life dogma, I wasn't going to pretend like it never happened.

I couldn't, anyway. The name _Harry Potter_ was now underlined three times in my head.

Bloody wanker. Of course my archenemy had to be my first kiss. A damned good one, too.

It had been at least four hours since... it happened, and I still couldn't shake the warm feel of his hand touching my shoulder, his lips...

I glanced down at the parchment I had been doodling on and noted quickly--with little joy--that I had been scrawling Potter's name for the past several layers of ink. I tossed the paper into the fire in the Slytherin common and put the quill and ink back into my bag. 

As I stood, I remembered. _Damn._ I had promised to help Pansy with her Charms essay. I headed up to the library, unable to avoid stopping at the place where Potter had snogged me. I was never going to view that part of the dungeon the same again.

Pansy was waiting outside the library for me. "Draco," she said, and linked arms with me. I squirmed against her touch--too familiar, it brought thoughts of _his_ touch even deeper. She didn't notice. "Thanks for coming down, I know this is your best subject."

"Well, as they say in political debate--" I leaned closer to her and whispered, "Know your opponent's side better than your own, and you can defeat him faster." She gave me a cautious little pouty grin. I felt a smirk settling on my face, sprinkled with contempt for her outwardly, pathetically flirtatious ways.

She looked over and rolled her eyes. "Oh, wonderful," she said airily. "Don't look now, it's the Terrific Gryffindor Trio."

I looked up to see Weasley and Potter laughing riotously at something that had the Mudblood quite offended. He hadn't even noticed me yet. I pulled my arm from Pansy and started away before he noticed me. "Come on, Pansy, let's not waste time."

She ignored me. "Oi! Granger!" The Mudblood glanced up. "Funny meeting you here! Are you researching best techniques of boot licking for McGonagall, or do you just have nothing better to do?"

I groaned inwardly, pressed my hand to my forehead. There was no escape now. Granger stormed over, much to the chagrin of her two shadows. "And you're here to learn how to do beautifying charms, I expect?" she said quite nastily. "Of course, even pulling an Eloise Midgen would be an improvement, for you."

"That's it," Pansy said. 

I pulled her back by the shoulder and whispered, "You started this. There's no point to finishing it. I don't want a detention, do you?"

Pansy deferred, giving me a slight glare. After I released Pansy's shoulder, I raised my eyes only to see _him_. 

You'd think I would say something clever here, but that was not the case.

"Potter," I said.

The blank stare in his... very, very green eyes revealed that his thoughts were not unlike mine at all.

"Malfoy," he said.

I felt one of my eyebrows twitch up. "Excellent observation skills."

"Yes. Well." He was starting to flush; I couldn't tell if it was from embarrassment or anger. Either way, I couldn't help but be amused.

"And articulation, too. Aren't you the grab bag of skills." I was more taunting than vicious, but in both instances I got another blush. He looked very naive with a rosy tint in his cheeks. I took Pansy's wrist. "Come along, Pansy. There's more important things to do than to bandy around with these three."

She obediently came with, but shot back one last comment to the Mudblood: "Chipmunk!" Snickers followed the echoed comment. 

The response, "Pug!" brought laughs out of more of the closer students. Pansy glared sullenly at a giggling Hufflepuff until she stopped. I couldn't say this to Pansy without a week of being ignored, but I agreed entirely.

I opened up my bag and extracted the book I needed from my bag. "Was it on pest control or pest creation?" I asked. I opened up the book, only to reveal yet another sheet of paper covered with many scrawling of Potter's name.

I quickly crumpled it up and shoved it deep into my bag. I swallowed hard, observing her to make certain she didn't notice.

I wished I could just poison Potter and be done with it. Hate was so easy. But whatever this was, this attraction, this lust... was not easy. I couldn't have hurt him if I wanted to. And that could only mean... actually caring.

Was this... love?

Love? Me, in love with Harry Potter?

I must have been going mad.


	7. It really means I care

A/N: *Giggle* Yay! My muses are visiting me! All right, another new chapter. The chapter name alludes to the oft-repeated phrase of endearment… well, I think you'll figure it out. I allude to a wonderful D/Hr fic by soul of fyre158 in here--the line about marionettes is totally to you, soul. You rock. A fair amount of Lucius-bashing in here, but that's a usual for me. Get used to it. Possibly the best characterization of Hermione I've ever done, in this chapter. I have the fastest beta in the world. Heh. Perhaps another snog? Read and see. Aww, they're so cute…

PS: This chapter is dedicated to mine wonderful beta, Fluffy. Told you I'd do it! See, I can write fluff…

****

It really means "I care"

Harry Potter

For some reason, this whole situation really bothered me.

He knew exactly how to embarrass me. It was disturbing. He'd just open that mouth of his and... er, can we not talk about Malfoy's _mouth_, please? Anyway, he'd just start talking and with every word I felt stupider and more insignificant.

Not to mention, speechless. The git had me in a stranglehold of guilt, anger and... that something else that I didn't know.

Currently this topic bothered me so much that I was avoiding Hermione and Ron altogether and studying in the library. Mind you, I was reading Quidditch books, but I guess it could be considered training. Call me a hero if you will, but a scholar I am not.

I was currently buried in _Worst Injuries in the History of Quidditch_ by Cassandra Manswell when someone grabbed it from my hands. I glared up only to see Malfoy's blank, apathetic face.

"A good book," he said. He flipped through a few pages. "Very nice indeed." He turned another page and winced. "That must have hurt."

"Do you mind?" I said.

"Mind? Of course not," he said. He snapped the book shut and placed it on the table. I pulled it towards me, and he put his hand on top of mine to stop me. I felt my face flush. "Page 167," he said, pulled his hand away, and swept out of the library.

I flipped to page 167 to see a piece of paper lying within the crease. I opened it and saw written in a flowing script in green ink, these words:

If you will, meet me in the dungeons. You know where.

I stared at these words for a moment. Amazingly they began to fade, and I realized that it was disappearing ink. _He thinks he's so bloody clever._

I was going to do the heroic thing, and that was to resolve my problem. I was also going to do the stupid thing, but that was besides the point.

"Stupid git," I said to myself, cast the book away, and headed down to the dungeons.

Draco Malfoy

I knew that he would show up, because the poor kid was just afflicted with honor and loyalty. He'd be ready and waiting to resolve this thing, even more so to prove that he was a gallant manly man, and that what had happened, didn't.

He was an idiot.

He showed up, panting. Clearly he had made a haphazard decision, as I had expected. How Gryffindor of him.

I admired him, slightly irritated and disheveled. "Glad you took enough effort to bang your two brain cells together and figure this out, Potter."

He looked up, half-smirked. "How could I forget," he said.

"How sweet," I said. "You remembered." I pretended to swoon.

"Fuck you, Malfoy."

I fluttered my eyelashes. "Only after dinner."

Potter flushed darker. "Bastard."

"I hope so. Hmm, maybe I shouldn't have said that in mixed company. Oh well." I shrugged. The one good thing about Potter was that he brought out the best wit in me.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Potter glared at me.

I shrugged. "The same thing you do. To figure this out. If this has thrown you off as much as it's thrown me off, you need it."

Potter shrugged. I noticed how thin his shoulders were; he really was built to be a Seeker. I shook that off--the last thing I needed to do now was examine Potter's body. "All right. I think it was... I don't know, you tell me. You're the one who snogged me."

I blinked a few times, and was certain I heard wrong. The Gryffindor bastard was saying that I had made the move..? "No. You snogged me."

He was now dark red, either in fury or embarrassment, I was too far into both myself to tell. "Liar."

I shoved him against the wall. "Moron."

He took a step forward. "Prick!"

I got in his face. "Wanker!"

It was in that moment of silence that we both realized we were face to face in the same hallway that we had snogged in the night before.

"Go to hell," he said, and I realized I had never noticed his lips before. Huh, go figure. He had lips.

"I'll leave a handsome corpse."

"Arrogant prat."

"But where would this world be without arrogant prats like me?"

"It'd be extremely boring."

"Oh, wouldn't it?" I felt the smirk crawl over my lips again. "But then again..."

I left the thought unfinished and pushed him against the wall, pulled his glasses off with two fingers and pressed my lips to his. For modesty's sake, I will say we stayed there for quite a while, until his hands reached my shoulders and broke us apart.

"Well?" he said.

"Without people like you, we'd all be dead."

"Oh, you would, would you?" He let his hands slide down my shoulders, down my arms until they hung at his sides. I stepped back. He laughed, low and not amused. "I guess this means I'm gay."

I smirked. "Ever fancied that Weasel of yours?"

His eyes narrowed. "No!"

"How about that Seamus Finnigan? Or Oliver Wood? They seem your types."

"No! They're my friends!"

"Have you ever been attracted to any other male? Except me, of course."

Potter actually seemed to consider this. "No."

"Then you're not gay." I pretended to preen myself. "You just want me."

Potter rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Malfoy."

"Please, call me Draco. It's what I allow all of my admirers to call me."

"I said shut it, Lockhart."

"Please, I insist, Draco--" I paused. "Oh, I see. Very clever, Potter."

"Harry," he said. "I insist." He took his glasses from me and put them back on. "You know, if you weren't such an overbearing asshole, I wouldn't mind this at all."

"If you weren't such a goody-two-shoes, I wouldn't mind this either."

Potter laughed. It would take some work to get him to raise himself up to first name status. "Ron will kill me if he finds out."

"He won't kill you," I pointed out. "He'll kill me. He's begging for a reason." I shrugged. "My father would have a bloody coronary if he found out I was snogging with the enemy. Of course, then he'd come back to life and kill me, too." I rolled my eyes. "An eternity with Lucius Malfoy. God help me."

Potter raised his eyes. "I know your father's a Death Eater. I saw him at Voldemort's rebirth."

"You act as though you expect this to be a surprise. In two years, Father wants me to enlist as a Death Eater myself." I shrugged. "I won't, of course."

"I expect you wouldn't want to help destroy your snogging partner, now would you?" I laughed--it was good to see he had accepted the inevitable.

"That, and I won't do a bloody thing Father makes me do." I lounged against the nearest wall. "I haven't since I was four. If his goal and mine are the same, well, yes--like beating you at Quidditch, for example--I'll do it. But if he tries using me as his dancing marionette, I'll cut my bloody strings off."

"Congratulations, Malfoy, you have successfully worked through an extended metaphor."

"Leave the sarcasm to me, I'm better at it." There was a pause. I adjusted my robes. "Well. I'll see you tomorrow, then?"

Potter looked puzzled. "What?"

"Transfiguration, you git. However, if you want to meet afterwards..." I raised my eyebrows. He gave me a look of disapproval reminiscent of the Mudblood and McGonagall.

Someone cleared their throat, and both of us glanced over. There was Pansy Parkinson, my biggest fan, looking more like a pug than I could've ever imagined. "Draco," she said. "Whatever are you doing?"

I glanced at Potter. "Not a thing." I smirked back at Pansy. "He was just apologizing, that's all." I glanced back at him and glared, "Play along, moron."

Potter gave me a barely noticeable nod, then glared. "I can't believe I thought you could be a civilized man, Malfoy," he shot back. "Fuck you." He stormed off. He was a pretty good actor.

"Fuck you, too," I snapped, and turned back to Pansy. "He was apologizing for hitting me before the Quidditch match. What a sap." I rolled my eyes.

She glared at me, then shrugged sharply. "All right, whatever you say." She glanced at me. "Did you fight him again? Did you win?"

I decided to lie. "Yes, why?"

"You're all flushed. Are you all right?"

"I'm fantastic. Can we go to dinner?" I sighed. "I'm starving."

Harry Potter

"Who is she?" Hermione said when I arrived at the Gryffindor table.

It took me a while to register the question. "Who?"

She took a bite of baked potato, chewed, swallowed and said, "The girl you've been snogging."

Ron choked on a mouthful of sausage. I jerked as though poked with a stick. "What?" Ron said in a strangled voice.

Hermione put down her fork, and began to tick off points. "You've been acting strangely. You've been disappearing--library, my foot. You can't pay attention in class. I beat you at wizard's chess last night. You're coming back all flushed and tipsy. Unless you're an alcoholic all of the sudden, I extremely doubt that this strange behavior is attributed to anything but a paramour." She grinned. "So, who is she?"

My throat stopped. The answer "Actually, it's a he and it's Malfoy" really did register in my head, but obviously got no further. Instead, I said, "Hermione, you're insane," and pulled up my plate.

Ron swallowed his food. "No," he said thickly, "her theory actually makes sense. For once." Hermione rolled her eyes. "Now, who is she?"

I started carving at my baked potato. "There is no 'she.' I do not have a 'paramour.' Now leave me alone."

"Denial. Withdrawal. The classic symptoms," she said promptly.

I looked down. "Well, er, I guess…" I sighed. "I didn't want to tell you this, but… you know Snape hates me."

"Despises," Ron said.

"Loathes," Hermione corrected, then shrugged. "What does that have to do with it?"

All that time with Malfoy must have rubbed off on me. The perfect lie slid right off my tongue. "Well, Dumbledore finally took notice to Snape's bias and forced him to give me extra credit so I could pull my Potions mark up. Unfortunately, Snape was allowed to give his own stipulation."

"Malfoy!" Hermione's face fell. "So that's why he didn't let Pansy and I fight; I bet Snape made him promise to be civil." She nodded. "I see. Sorry about the misunderstanding."

"If you need any help with Malfoy…" Ron grinned.

I grinned back, then sighed. "Sadly, Dumbledore found out about the fight we had, and is keeping an eye on us. Any injury Malfoy gets will shift the blame right to me."

"Not that that's unusual." We all laughed and I reached down to get piece of parchment, a quill and ink to write a short note to Hagrid. The roll of parchment I pulled out was very short, and already had something written on it, in the familiar green script.

Meet me in the Restricted Section, if you've the courage. Saturday. 7PM. Have you accepted it yet?

I crammed the piece of parchment back in my bag. _Arrogant prick._

I was going, of course. Someone had to show Malfoy that he wasn't nearly as good as he thought he was.

I'd show him.

"Fuck you too, Malfoy," I said under my breath.


End file.
